Unobserved
by Elianara
Summary: Johnlock. A chance meeting 7with an ex of John's brings out the good doctors possessive side and Sherlock's insecurities.
1. Chapter 1

AN: First attempt at Sherlock, first attempt at slash and first time I've written anything in a long time. Would really appreciate any and all comments.

Disclaimer: I don't own this and bow down before Gatiss, Moffat and Conan Doyle.

'Are you listening?'

The sharpness of the tone pulled John out of his own thoughts.

' I'm listening. I got the bit about the paint flakes - carry on.' John was listening - sort of. It was just that it was difficult to concentrate on the finer points of trace evidence when he was trying to decide if he wanted to tear the midnight blue shirt off the detective or remove it slowly, lavishing attention on each revealed inch of beautifully contrasting pale skin . They had been, tentatively, together for a few brief weeks and the notion of being able to act out his fantasies as soon as he got Sherlock alone was still a distracting novelty. The chances of John remembering anything about the four distinct types of paint flakes, less still how they connected to the wife's affair, were slim but he just let the richness of his lover's voice wash over him.

They were on their way home after a Bart 's charity function. Molly had asked them to go and John, feeling slightly guilty about the lovelorn pathologist, had insisted they went. He had even made Sherlock behave.

As he thought about the earlier events of the evening he decided it had probably worked out for the best. Molly had met them at Baker Street, Mrs Hudson letting her in unexpectedly. As she walked into their living room Sherlock was adjusting John's tie, making a piss-poor job of it since he didn't wear ties himself. John supposed it hadn't been what they were doing, more how they were doing it, standing so close, laughing-giggling even, hands touching. When John looked up at Molly he could see it in her eyes, she just _knew_. He'd pulled her aside at the party (Sherlock was blissfully unaware until it was explained). There had been tears and a hug and then she'd taken the same course of action that John would have himself under the circumstances and systematically got plastered.

So it was that the three of them were travelling home in the unaccustomed luxury of one if Mycroft's cars. Cream leather interior and one of those electric screens between them and the driver. Molly napping between them, as the detective explained the paint flakes.

Sherlock's brother had gone to resolve something delicate but unspecified in Panama and, since it was already paid for, given them use of a car for a few days. John had long assumed that the shiny elegant Jags that occasionally abducted him were some sort of official perk. Apparently Mycroft hired them by the day, paying for them out of his own pocket to use for 'off the books' work. Being a drama queen ran in the family it seemed, at least it helped cut down the shocking amount they spent on cabs for a few days.

When they arrived at Molly's John looked pointedly at the detective. They had agreed that he was to have a few minutes alone with her and 'say something nice'.

'I'll walk you in Molly.' Sherlock said uncertainly, looking to John who nodded in encouragement.

Given the wine she'd got through Molly managed a reasonably elegant exit from the car and with a slightly anxious backwards look from Sherlock, the two of them disappeared into her building. John had just started a long overdue text to Harry when he realised Molly's keys were on the seat beside him. He got out the car but they were already inside. Unless Sherlock decided to pick her locks they would be heading straight back down again so he waited on the street.

'Captain John Watson?'A shout behind him. _Shit_. He knew the voice but allowed himself a few seconds of denial until he turned round, his expression forced into neutral. Jason looked the same as ever, gorgeous. Tall, blonde with a swimmers build.

'Jason, I didn't know you were in London.' He forced himself to look his former colleague and lover in the eye just as Molly and Sherlock came back through the security door and over to the car. Jason turned towards them, his gaze pausing on Sherlock,then sweeping slowly over the detective's long form. _Bloody typical_, John thought with rising irritation.

'Yeah - staying here at the moment.' Jason nodded at Molly's building.

'Hi, I think I've seen you about- Molly.' The pathologist said with a smile, oblivious to any atmosphere.

'Molly- Jason, and this is my boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes.' John added. He thought he managed casual-with effort - but wasn't quite sure if the subtext of 'hands off' got through so he moved a couple of paces to slide his arm around Sherlock's waist.

'_The_ Sherlock Holmes? You look different without the hat.' Jason said, with a lop-sided grin that John remembered being unable to resist once upon a time.

'Yeah- he hates the hat, just a newspaper thing.' John said. Sherlock smiled, one of his broad, charming, fake smiles and John felt muscle tense under his hand.

'How is your wife?' Sherlock said icily, stretching his arm around John and pulling them even closer together.

Jason's eyes shot to John who smiled innocently, Sherlock had found the sore point without any information from him. It was always a pleasure to watch Sherlock make bastards like Jason squirm.

'Well, anyway, give anyone you see from the old team my best, won't you John.' Jason moved away quickly, not waiting for a reply as he disappeared into the building.

'OK-I'll ask. How did you know he was married? Tan line on the ring finger?' Molly said as the door clanged shut.

'Hardly saw his ring finger,always covered, he fidgets with it constantly. His clothes have creases that suggest they've been folded small, he's probably living out of a suitcase at a friend's after a recent separation. Also, notice the way he said 'staying here at the moment' as opposed to, 'I live here.'

John imagined he was itching to turn up the collar on the coat right about then but it had been too warm to wear it.

'Come on Molly I'll take you in, don't want you accosted by strange men in the lift.' He took the keys from John.

John settled back into the car and started again on the text to his sister. He had just pressed send when Sherlock returned.

' You Ok- everything good with Molly?' John said tucking his phone into his inside pocket, noting the pensive look.

'What happened with him?' The detective said, his voice tight as he peered out the side window. The car moving out into traffic.

John sighed, he had hoped not to get into this. 'We had a thing-barely a thing-before we went out to Afghanistan. Two days before we leave I find out he's got a wife.' John turned to him, it seemed an awful lot more complicated in his head somehow but that was the gist of it.

'When you say barely a thing?..' Sherlock probed.

'It only lasted a few weeks. He got transferred into our team just before we went to this awful training thing in Yorkshire, we ended up messing about a bit when we were there. I knew it was a bad idea, someone I was working with but it was a funny time I felt ...reckless, I'd just broken up with a girl and now I was being sent to Afghanistan, you know? Then discovering I was carrying on with a married man just before he goes off to a war zone. Not my finest moment.' John finished staring into the middle distance.

'Is that why...You've never called me that before - your boyfriend. You wanted to make him jealous or something?' The detective turned to him with an expression John didn't recognise, it took him few moments to realise it was confusion.

'Sherlock, I've thought of you as my boyfriend since the first time we kissed. Saying it had nothing to do with that bastard. Actually - no, I've thought of you as my boyfriend since I realised we were going to kiss-you remember?.' Sherlock said nothing but smiled, sort of shyly.

John thought back to that wonderfully strange moment in a Dartmoor churchyard, they had been arguing, really going at it. He had boldly stepped towards Sherlock, wanting to get his point across, to his surprise, Sherlock hadn't moved away. The fight, the silly fight, of a few seconds previous melted to nothing and suddenly there was no alternative in the universe but for their lips to meet. John had known in that moment that this would be many things but never casual.

'I didn't like the way he was looking at you.' John sighed, sliding across the car seat and picking up a slim hand, kissing the backs of the fingers.

'You were trying to defend my honour Dr Watson?' Sherlock said and kissed John's palm softly in return.

'Something like that. I don't want anyone looking at you like that but me.' John's voice was a rasping whisper.

'If that's how you feel Dr I should tell you that I let Molly Hooper kiss me on the lips up there. I get the distinct impression she may wear out some batteries tonight -she seemed rather - flushed.' Sherlock said, his hand running over John's knee and lightly squeezing his thigh.

'I don't blame her, if I'd kissed you and you'd left me hanging I'd need to relieve the tension as well.' John replied close to his ear.

With a quick glance around the mercifully enclosed space of the back of the car, Sherlock slid his fingers into the back of John's hair and drew him into a kiss. A deep filthy kiss, clumsy in it's eagerness. John felt the ghost of a moan rumble in Sherlock's chest as he finally got his hands on the shirt. It wrinkled beneath his fingers as the first two buttons opened in surrender with barely a touch.

John broke away and Sherlock caressed the back of his head as he worked his mouth over the sweet spot on Sherlock's neck before moving lower to tease a nipple through the expensive fabric. Sherlock's hand now ran wantonly up John's inner thigh and, rather roughly, slid open-palmed over his growing erection.

The action seemed to bring John back to where he was and he stopped, looking around.

'You don't suppose Mycroft has put cameras in here?' John said anxiously.

'God no - he'll have scanned for recording equipment. The meetings he uses this for he wouldn't want filmed. Sherlock continued the motion with his hand, though more gently, friction on a particular spot causing John to gasp.

'One of the most unobserved places in England.' The detective said smiling, as he deliberately undid John's belt, button and zip.

'You want to do this here? ' John protested, but his voice had become breathless, raw-edged arousal.

Sherlock glanced out of the car window.

'We have time. We've hardly moved in ten minutes - must be the roadworks.' Sherlock looked at him, eyes dark with arousal, hand already releasing John from his underwear.

John's breathing grew uneven in sheer anticipation because Sherlock gave one hell of a blow job. John imagined it was his steep learning curve, all John's little involuntarily movements and moans that had been interpreted and filed away somewhere in his mind palace.

He gave John a final dirty glance, before lowering his head and smoothly, slowly, taking John's length into his mouth. One of John's hands threaded through the dark curls while the other grasped reflexively at the leather seat in an effort to stay quiet. If this were Baker Street he would be telling Sherlock in colourful language and vivid detail how good it felt and exactly what he wanted to do to him in return. As it was the detective laced his fingers with the hand that was abusing the upholstery, both their knuckles white with tension.

'Close...' John gasped, the leather creaking as, his hips started to jerk instinctively. Sherlock increased the pace his tongue working expertly along the underside of John's length and around the head. John came in a series of bitten off moans. It was the first time he had came actually inside Sherlock's mouth but the detective seemed unperturbed. He discreetly turned away from John to spit into a wad of napkins which he must have lifted at the party.

'Prepare for this did you?' John said watching him, head dropped on to the back of the seat, enjoying the sated buzz and letting his breathing go back to normal.

Sherlock smiled sheepishly. 'When you said I had to talk to Molly I thought she might cry.'

'Always the perfect gentleman- well mostly.' John said raising his eyebrows.

The detective blushed gloriously, as he turned back towards John and handed him a spare napkin to clean up. He frowned as he wiped at a spot on John's thigh.

'I hope this dry cleans out. I like you in this suit.'

'I won't do any Clinton jokes if you don't.' John smirked, brushing a stray curl out of his face. Sherlock looked at him blankly.

'Never mind.' John said shaking his head, he should really have remembered his audience.

As Sherlock shifted in his seat John suddenly became aware that the detective had been neglected. He unconsciously licked his lips as he looked at the strained fabric tenting the front of Sherlock's trousers. He glanced out of the tinted window, nearly home.

John linked his fingers with Sherlock running their joined hands over the bulge. The detective gasped at the contact, pupils blown as he looked at John.

'As soon as I get you inside.' John promised, his voice thick and rough.

Thanks for reading. Obviously there needs to be a second chapter which I'll try and post over the next couple of days.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N With grovelling apologies for the

delay...

As the car turned into Baker Street John found himself pleasantly draped in consulting detective. Sherlock's head rested on his shoulder and one long thigh had hooked over his knee allowing him to lazily run his fingertips up and down the inside leg of the immaculately tailored grey suit.

Sherlock was amusingly flustered as he climbed out of the car at their door, carrying his jacket awkwardly in front of him. John was left to tip the driver, and gave more than he had planned to when he imagined he saw the hint of a smirk.

He hurried Sherlock through the front door, quietly shutting it behind them, though Mrs Hudson usually slept like the dead after her 'herbal soother'. He then firmly but silently pressed Sherlock back against the closed door, his gaze predatory.

'I did say as soon as I got you inside.' John grinned wickedly, one hand going to Sherlock's belt but his hand was swatted away, the detective looking over his shoulder with a frown. John turned to see the light in 221a had gone on.

'Sherlock?' Mrs Hudson's muffled shout was right on cue.

He sighed and opened his mouth to answer but John stopped him.

'Upstairs now. I'll talk to her.' John whispered kissing Sherlock sharply on the lips and nodding his head towards the staircase.

He moved quickly, John giving his backside an affectionate squeeze as he passed.

Mrs Hudson took longer than expected to deal with and it was ten minutes before John made his way up. A client had visited while they were out. A good old-fashioned jewel thief case from what she said, maybe even a locked room mystery. There was nothing Sherlock liked more than a locked room mystery- but it could wait.

Sherlock had left their door ajar and was stretched out in his usual chair when John walked in. He made to cross the floor but stopped. The opportunity to just watch Sherlock for a moment was too good. He had changed into his blue (second best) dressing gown and, as far as John could tell, now wore nothing else. His eyes were closed and he seemed totally oblivious to John's presence as he langorously stroked himself through the silk. His other arm was flung behind his head to rest on the back of the chair. He looked edible.

John must have shifted his weight or something because the floorboards creaked suddenly. Piercing eyes snapped open, panicky for a second before resting on John. He then stretched luxuriously.

'Come to bed.' He said, moving to get up.

'Oh no, you stay there.' John said, hurriedly taking off his suit jacket and throwing it in the general direction of his own chair as he crossed the room.

He brought his hands to rest either side of Sherlock's head, leaning into his lovers space. Resting his face against the dark curls for a few seconds until his shoulder began to protest at the odd way he was balancing his weight.

As he moved to perch on the chair arm he began to find the dressing gown a nuisance and scrabbled to untie the cord while nuzzling at that temptingly elegant neck. J

He pulled the silk aside like wrapping paper. As he slid down Sherlock's body he was enveloped by the man's heat and scent, a pheremone heavy mix of soap and sweat and Sherlock. He settled on his knees between Sherlock's thighs.

Have you any idea how you look?' John murmured, sitting back for a moment to notice how a rosy blush was spreading across the alabaster skin.

Sherlock moaned, maybe even growled a little, just in case John had forgotten about how badly he needed to come really soon.

In spite of the detective's urgency John took his time, reverently kissing Sherlock's chest and then the curves of his ribs, moving down to the sharp angles of his lover's hip bones and the almost concave skin of his belly.

'John...' Sherlock gasped, bringing his hand up to the short hair, his eyes full of want as the doctor looked up at him.

'I know what you need love, I just like to take my time with you.' John said entwining their hands as he finally closed his mouth around just the head of Sherlock's cock, moving his tongue in a way that made the detective moan deliciously but John knew from experience didn't take him much closer to coming.

He could get Sherlock off this way-eventually. They had spent an interesting rainy morning a couple of weeks ago doing just that. The intoxicating blend of lust and a surprising intimacy had rendered them incapable of much but lying swaddled in a duvet for the rest of the day.

Tonight though required something less subtle, rougher. John shifted and took as much of Sherlock in his mouth as he could, quick but firm movements that he knew would drag Sherlock over the edge. Losing control in a way he only allowed John to see.

'John-your mouth - oh fuck...' Sherlock gasped, sliding all ten of his fingers around John's skull.

John loved this bit. Much as he found the great consulting detective in full deductive flow sexy as hell, there was something special about him reduced to monosyllables by nothing more than John's mouth. That big brain on standby for a few brief moments.

John felt the long limbs tense and then a deeply satisfying moan as the first gush coated his tongue and was efficiently swallowed down. John kept him in his mouth until he felt him relax, go bonelessly limp.

The doctor sat back, resting his head for a few moments on Sherlock's knee but his shoulder and leg soon started to ache in the draughts that played along the floorboards. He got up grabbing Sherlock's hands.

'Come on, we'll have a proper lie down for half an hour, then a quick shower before bed.' Sherlock meekly followed, no danger of that happening at any other time so John enjoyed the brief sensation of being unchallenged.

They went to Sherlock's room without discussion, there had never been any formal 'moving in'. The number of nights John spent in his own room just gradually dwindled. This led to two things, firstly Sherlock now slept six or seven hours a night and second John's nightmares all but stopped. John was irrationally worried that if he mentioned either of these things to the other man he would somehow break the spell so he kept it to himself.

They lay down on top of the bed, John stripped to his underwear and shirt, wrapped in the silky circle of Sherlock's arms.

' You don't feel reckless now-do you?' The detective said suddenly, his breath ruffling John's hair.

John turned to lie on his belly, propped on his elbows to look at Sherlock who was lying on his back, fingers clasped behind his head, staring at the ceiling. The brain was definitely turned back on.

'Its just what you said earlier. You felt reckless and you got into an ill-judged love affair.' The detective looked off to the side.

'You think this is ill-judged?' John said, for some reason Sherlock's choice of words seemed absurd, like a Victorian romance, young ladies in corsets lamenting their ill-judged love affairs.

' No- and I've done some things that were...but not this.' When he turned back to face John he struggled,to look at him straight, the sheer rawness in his damp eyes was unsettling.

John marshalled the thoughts in his head and opened his mouth to speak. To in fact give a speech, because the way he felt was a monologue, not a simple sentence. At the last second though he paused. He had the sudden feeling that the way he felt, unabridged, may terrify rather than reassure, so he spoke the first thought that popped into his head.

'You fixed my leg.' John spoke lightly in an effort to leaven the moment, because in truth he found this stuff no easier than Sherlock. He brought his chin to rest on th detective's chest staring up at him with what he hoped was his best boyish smile.

Sherlock looked at him evenly for a few beats, then smiled back, the corners of his eyes creasing in the way John loved.

'I did didn't I.' Sherlock said, confidence restored, for now, wrapping John back in his arms.

The doctor sighed heavily, going limp for few seconds, then rolled himself upright. 'Come on, shower then bed.'

'Together?.' Sherlock said glancing up at John knowing the sparks of desire in John's eyes were mirrored in his own.

**Thanks for reading. :-)**


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